


You Be the Alcohol, I'll Be the Hangover

by flashindie



Category: Bandom, The Cab
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Boys Will Be Boys, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 22:49:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashindie/pseuds/flashindie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which highschool boys are dumb teenagers. Involves drunken make-outs and pigtail-pulling. Stupid Cash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Be the Alcohol, I'll Be the Hangover

Here’s the thing, the kicker or, y’know, whatever. Here’s the point. Cash Colligan is a massive douchebag. 

Alex totally knows this, learned it back in elementary school when Cash took the last blue crayon and also like, Alex’s best friend, but in retrospect he’s more disturbed about the crayon. It was a nice crayon and Luke Daven was a back-stabbing whore of a seven year old.

But yeah. Cash is a massive douchebag. Cash is selfish and a flirt and has an ego that needs its own space on the class roll call. He plays people like Alex plays Uno and the entire school is totally blind to it. They think Cash is entirely non-douchey, maybe even a little cool and they hang out with him and invite him to shit and Alex has no idea why which, okay, is not entirely true. 

If Alex were to be honest, he’d say that he and Cash are really living out completely different high school experiences. This is mostly because Alex has braces, Alex has long, curly hair and Alex has the body of maybe a twelve-year-old girl only, y’know, with a penis and no developing breasts. 

Cash has none of these things apart from like, a dick. Cash is also charismatic, Cash is funny and okay, if Alex were a chick _maybe_ he’d see like, aesthetically, the appeal of Cash.

For the record, Alex isn’t a chick. 

*

“Hi.”

Alex isn’t sure why people have parties on Wednesday nights but whatever, because this one is offering free alcohol and Alex isn’t morally above taking advantage of some asshole’s effort to win friends. He’s totally not trashed, but he has that happy buzz in the back of his head that makes everything feel easy and far-away and the noises of the night blur together like a soundtrack, like strings and brass beneath the dialogue. It’s nice, good and it makes Alex think in smiley-faces instead of like, emo poetry.

“Hi,” someone says again, and there’s a body in his space, in his _bubble_. His mom said someone could only do that if he let them, but this guy’s done a pretty good job of getting in on his own terms, if the significant lack of breathing space between them is anything to go by. 

“I’m Cash,” he says, and Alex looks up to blue eyes and a really bad dye job and he thinks, thinks, _duh_. 

“Dude,” Alex mumbles, slurs and wow, he didn’t think he’d had that much to drink. “Dude, we go to the same school,” and Cash just looks a little blank. 

“I’m in half your classes, man.”

“Awesome,” Cash says, and he drops an arm to the wall beside Alex’s head and cool, because now Alex is kind of completely stuck between that and a keg.

“We’re not friends, dude,” Alex says, and Cash’s eyes are glazed, and he smells like smoke and beer and sweat and Alex squirms a little, can feel Cash’s stupid hot booze-breath break on the bottom of his jaw. He wraps his fingers tighter around the plastic cup of Corona in his hands.

“Guess not,” Cash says, and his breathing evens on Alex’s skin, feels hotter somehow and maybe that’s the beer talking, or maybe it’s because Cash is getting closer. Close enough that Alex, he doesn’t see it coming when Cash falls forward, crashes his lips against Alex’s and they’re, they’re totally kissing right now. Alex startles and Cash takes advantage, slips his tongue in at the same time that Alex’s eyes slide shut and Alex doesn’t even know what’s happening. 

Cash is moving, shifting against him until his other hand hits the wall on the other side of Alex’s head and his body presses solid against his. Cash nudges a leg between his thighs and this is out of body, out of mind and Alex is maybe getting more drunk off the beer still on Cash’s lips, _tongue_ , is maybe squirming to get closer and this isn’t - this isn’t Alex at all. His fingers clench and he fidgets against the wall, knocks his heels against the plaster. 

Maybe this is totally stupid but Alex doesn’t make a habit of making out with people he hates at high school parties. And, okay, to be fair, people don’t normally spring up on him and do this or like, hit on him at all, but Cash is kissing him like he _wants_ to, and that’s more than Alex can say about Gemma two weeks ago. 

Someone must hit Cash from behind, because suddenly Cash crashes forward almost violently, and Alex ends up squashed against the wall, forehead sore from where Cash’s knocked into it and it’s enough that the beer cup crumples, spills all over Alex’s shirt and jeans and Cash just looks down, up, and grins. 

“Stop being a fag.” It’s one of Cash’s friends (surprise) who quirks a brow when he sees Alex. “There’s a chick in the bathroom who totally wants you to bone her like, so badly, dude. It’s awesome.”

Cash grins over at his friend, smiles back at Alex and knocks their hips together one last time before leaving Alex standing there totally flushed and confused and embarrassed and okay, Cash is totally the biggest douchebag _ever_.

*

Alex’s mom has this rule that if he’s stupid enough to drink on a school night, he’s obviously too stupid to miss a day of said school. Which, okay, _logically_ probably makes sense, but is also mean and hence morally apprehensible.

And not fair. Alex’s head hurts and his stomach still protests violently to like, the smell of anything ever and Alex can maybe - maybe - feel Cash’s breath on his jaw still, smell beer and weed on himself and it makes his stomach clench and his heart like, stutter or something. He’s totally enraged and Cash should be scared because Alex is honestly a little bitch when pissed off.

He staggers into history ten minutes late and Cash is at the back of the room already, looking fresh and awake and entirely not-hung-over-at-all and Alex kind of hates him a lot. It doesn’t matter though, because Cash’ll look over and recognise Alex and totally be really, super, mega embarrassed and it’ll be way worse than what Alex is feeling because Alex didn’t initiate or offer or even really kiss back when he thinks about it. But Cash doesn’t, because Cash doesn’t know Alex exists and Alex isn’t sure why that makes him so _mad_.

*

Christine Elliot is a year older than Alex and she’s tall and pretty and she doesn’t wear too much make-up or dress like a slut (okay, not all the time anyway) and she owns the locker next to him. Alex doesn’t have a crush on her, because guys don’t get crushes, but he maybe likes her a little, because yeah, he’s had wet dreams about her since freshman year but he’s also had like, real dreams, where they go out for milkshakes and watch movies and hold hands. 

The point is, she’s really hot, and when she closes her locker beside him today, she says, “Hi,” and pulls a hefty amount of wavy hair behind her ear. “Alex, right?”

Alex has never been particularly discreet or subtle, so he can’t even help the way his eyes dart around the hall because like, she’s never, _ever_ spoken to him before but, fuck, Christine, she knows his _name_. 

“I’m Christine,” she says, and she giggles a little, bites her lip and Alex thinks _I know_ and also _ohmygodohmygod_ but mostly just _I know_. She glances back over her shoulder where a group of her friends are standing, grinning. “We were wondering if you could clear something up for us.”

“Uh.” Alex shifts a little on the spot, says, “I can try.”

Christine grins, and maybe it’s not entirely nice. “Right, so like, did you really make out with Cash the other night?”

Alex’s face drops like a brick from a plastic bag and her friends laugh, shove each other and a couple of them crow some nasty shit but really, really Alex is used to that. Christine doesn’t join in though, she just looks at them and then back to Alex. 

“Okay,” she says, and she goes to class.

*

“Christine talked to me today.”

Johnson doesn’t even look at him, just takes a bite out of his cold Subway teriyaki roll. “Awesome,” he says, voice catching around tomato and chicken.

“Yeah, in theory,” Alex says. “Only, like, why now, dude? We’ve been locker neighbours for two years and she talks _now_? After…” Alex pauses, bites the inside of his cheek and Johnson gives him a strange look, mouth full. 

“You made out with Colligan? Because, dude, I hate to be the one to have to tell you, but it’s not exactly a secret.”

Alex figures that’s his cue to jump in with something along the lines of, “He totally molested me, man, I feel like, violated. I am not even kidding,” so he does. 

“I think you really overestimate how much I care about your sex life, dude.”

“Yeah,” Alex says, “But it was totally one-sided. Just so you know,” and he chews on the inside of his cheek, pokes at Thursday’s lunch special with his plastic fork. He’s not totally sure what it is, but he thinks it’s maybe Monday’s lunch special thrown up.

There’s a crash somewhere from the other side of the cafeteria, and Alex turns to look and really, someone’s just dropped their lunch tray and it isn’t even funny, but kids are assholes so everyone laughs anyway. Alex just rolls his eyes a little, and like, he doesn’t mean to, but his head shifts enough that he can see Cash at his table and it’s, fuck, it’s Christine he’s with today. He’s touching her arm, hand heavy against her and he’s making her laugh, smile, and Alex sort of wants to punch him in the face. 

“What a douchebag,” he mumbles at his lunch and Johnson just like, stares, because he’s creepy like that sometimes. 

“Hey, hey.” Alex looks up and Danny is a little gangly, dorky, but he drops himself onto the bench at their table with a wide grin and a conspiratorial tone. “Party tomorrow night, you guys going?”

*

If Alex had to pick his least favorite class, he thinks it would be pretty much everything, but at least with Algebra and History, he kind of gets the concept. Gym’s just ridiculous and, generally, this isn’t a big deal. 

Today though, today is all about contact sports. 

Alex isn’t quite sure when or how it happens, but some asshole leaves Alex with the oval, pig-skin football in his hands. Awesome, Alex thinks, right before becoming the base for a poorly executed human pyramid only, y’know, less with hot cheerleaders and more with gross, sweaty teenage boys and wow, Alex thinks, wow. 

It doesn’t take people all that long to realize Alex dropped the ball after the first kid lunged at his waist, and most of the guys pull off, which is like, totally awesome because Alex is pretty sure he’s lost all feeling everywhere ever, but there’s still someone shifting on top of him and he really, really wishes that the weight wasn’t half-way familiar. 

Cash plants his hands in the dirt hard enough to lift his torso up and he looks down, tilts his head and narrows his eyes. He says, “Hey, wait, you’re-”

“Cash,” one of his friends pulls at his shoulder, “You’ll give the fag a hard-on, come on!” Cash looks down at Alex again, grins and he sorta looks like he’s gonna say something else, but Alex just shoves him off, staggers to his feet and then to the other side of the playing field. Everything aches now and something in his stomach sort of makes him want to hurl. 

Alex hates his life.

*

“Oh my God, how bad is Mr. Ronson? I mean, I got into Algebra and he was such a dick about everything.” Christine rolls her eyes to the ceiling, one hand on her hip as the other works the lock on her locker. “Just because I couldn’t answer that stupid question, he was all, ‘Maybe if you read the required content’, I mean, whatever, right? Like anyone reads that shit.”

Alex figures it’s probably a good time not to mention the fact that he kinda does. He also figures, ‘why are you talking to me?’ is not the greatest response, because then she might stop.

“Yeah, he’s, he’s a pretty massive asshole,” is probably the best option he’s got right now.

Christine nods, hair bouncing around her neck and she’s pretty hot today, her strawberry-blonde curls loose around her neck and her stupidly big green eyes all sparkly and shit. She dumps her books in her locker. 

“Thank God it’s Friday, huh? You going to the party tonight?”

Alex still has no idea how he got into this conversation, but is kind of ridiculously happy he did. “Uh, I haven’t really decided yet.”

“You should,” she says. Grins. “Everyone’s going, we could hang out.”

And yep, okay then. That’s the decider, but Christine grins for a minute, leans closer to bite her lip and Alex wonders if she knows how hot that is. He guesses she does when she looks up at him through her mascara-thick eyelashes and says, “Cash’ll be there,” and Alex just blanks because what the fuck?

*

The party is pretty massive and Alex is only a little trashed. Really, he hasn’t even had that much, doesn’t think so anyway as he runs to the nearest pot plant to hurl up the Chicken McNuggets he scarfed before he came out. Christine’s laughing a little but it’s not, it’s not even mean. She leans over to hold some of his hair back, presses her lips to the back of his neck and Alex doesn’t think she’s even had anything tonight.

“Christine.” And Alex doesn’t need to look up to know its Cash. “Christine, a chick like you should not be left out of the festivities to watch your girlfriend hurl.”

Alex would really like to get up and yell or throw his fists around, but the coolness of the ceramic plant pot is too nice against his forehead. He settles for glaring at the plant stem instead.

Christine laughs, but she says, “You’re such a dick sometimes, Cash. Alex’s just had a bit too much to drink, he’ll be okay.”

“Alex?” Cash asks, and he moves around, leans down until his face is next to Alex’s. 

“Dude, you totally look like a chick from behind. You should look into that.” Alex lashes a hand out, but there’s nothing behind it and he just ends up sort of stroking the side of Cash‘s face. He totally hears Christine hit Cash’s back though.

“Don’t be awful,” she says, but she doesn’t sound like she means it. 

Cash grins, gets up again and wraps an arm around Christine’s shoulders. “Cruel to be kind, baby,” he says. “What say you and I go get to know each other a little better?”

Christine rolls her eyes but Alex sees her flush out of the corner of his eye, hears the giggle in the back of her throat. “I’m not a total heinous bitch, Cash. I’m gonna drive Alex home.” 

“Hey.” He backs off, both hands in the air, says, “I respect a chick that takes care of her things.”

Alex isn’t sure he knows what that means, but Christine does drive him home, one hand on the wheel, the other on his thigh and when he leans over to kiss her when they stop in his driveway, she kisses back. 

*

This, Alex figures, totally means he won. He beat Cash, he _beat Cash_ which means that being nice and friendly and patient wins over blatant asshattery and also that _he_ beat _Cash_ and that’s awesome.

He doesn’t really talk to Christine again over the weekend but that’s okay, because Monday he’ll see her at the lockers and he’ll, y’know, he’ll ask her out and it’ll be like Aladdin and Jasmine, Tarzan and Jane, Kurt and Courtney. They’ll go out and have lunch together and hold hands and it’ll be real and a fairy tale all at once and Alex, he figures that’s the best kind of story. 

Only, Monday swings around and it’s not Christine waiting for him at his locker at all, it’s Cash leaning against it, tapping his foot against the school tiles and fiddling with the strap of his messenger bag. Alex slows, but Cash doesn’t move away, just stands up a little straighter and lets a stupid, sluggish smile spread across his face when he sees Alex stopping beside him. 

“Alex,” Cash says. “Your name is _Alex._ ” 

Alex widens his eyes dramatically, pulls his lips into a straight line, says, “And your name is Cash.”

Cash nods, does that grin he does that’s just sort of smug and ridiculous and Alex doesn’t even know, but something about it makes him hate. 

“I’ve got your number, _Alex_ ,” Cash says, and Alex wonders if he means phone number or like, locker number or what because Alex doesn’t think he has any other numbers. Alex isn’t sure, but he thinks maybe he’s missed something. 

Alex says, “Awesome,” instead and turns to go to class.

*

Only, his next class is with Cash.

Alex takes a seat close to the window and he tries not to y’know, slit his wrists with his paper scissors when Cash wanders in and takes the seat directly behind him.

History is only interesting when they’re talking about crazy battles or plague or people’s limbs falling off because that shit is awesome no matter how boring Mr. Barton’s voice is. Only it’s not awesome at the moment because like, they’re talking government policy in the 1940s and Alex leans down to scribble pictures of Cash’s stupid smiling, talking, kissing, _smug_ lips falling off in the margin of his notebook. 

There’s a sharp jab to his back which makes him start, shift in his seat and fuck it, he’s not going to give Cash the satisfaction because Cash? Yeah, massive douchebag. The jabs get more violent and Alex just ends up leaning forward until, _fuck_ , Cash _pulls his hair_. What the fuck? Alex doesn’t condone shit like that. He swivels in his seat to glare and that just makes Cash lean back in his own seat, arms folded over his chest and he grins, smug. 

Alex turns back to stab his notebook with his pen.

*

“You all right?” Christine asks, and Alex drops his books into his locker with a thud.

“Yeah, fine,” he says. “Only, no, no, I’m not, I mean, what’s his _deal?_ ”

Christine quirks an eyebrow, juts out a hip enough to lean on the side of the lockers. Her arms are folded over her chest and she looks a little bemused, tired. “Whose deal?”

“Cash’s,” Alex says, and he feels his lips curl, his forehead crease and this can’t be a good look, but Alex is _pissed off_. “What is up with him, because I swear he’s just this massive asshole and-”

Christine rolls her eyes a little, moves to tug some of Alex’s hair behind his ear and Alex remembers that he’s sort of supposed to be asking her out right now.

“Relax,” she says. “He’s being a boy and y’know, so are you. You’re both being boys.”

Alex is totally a man now. His mom says so. “What’s that even mean?”

Christine laughs a little, like they’re both doing a jigsaw but she’s the only one that’s seen the final picture and Alex is left blind. “You’ll figure it out.”

By lunchtime, all Alex has figured out is that he doesn’t like girl-logic. 

When he drops his tray to the table, he hits Johnson up for sympathy instead, because Johnson is a dude, and dudes are much more understanding to guy problems and grudges and shit. “Cash is a massive douchebag.”

Johnson gives him a weird look and yeah, Alex supposes, this probably wasn’t the best idea because Johnson might understand better but he also doesn’t care. “So are you, so am I,” he says. “So is every other guy at this school.”

Johnson totally doesn’t get it either.

*

In science this week, it’s three to a bench and Ms. Sithle spends the whole time talking about neutrons, which kinda gets Alex thinking about croutons and after the first ten minutes, Alex’s stomach is rumbling and his head hurts a little. 

This is not helped by the fact that Cash figured it’d be a good idea to sit next to him and Lucy. 

Lucy and Alex are sort of friends in the way that Lucy is one of the few girls in the school who doesn’t pretend he doesn’t exist so yeah, Alex considers them friends. 

The bell rung twenty minutes ago and Alex grabbed the seat beside Lucy because Lucy is cute and won’t try to set his hair on fire if they screw around with the Bunsen burners. Cash is late anyway, but there are plenty of seats free still yet apparently the one next to Alex is preferable to the one next to Hot Cindy. 

“Hey,” Cash says, and Alex stares at the board until Ms. Sithle’s loopy writing blurs together like the lights at a county fair. “Hey.” He puts a hand on Alex’s arm, fingers hot above his elbow, but it’s Lucy who leans over, says, “Yeah?”

“Lucy, right?”

“Right,” she says, and she grins, pink spilling across her cheeks like candy floss and Alex thinks it totally doesn’t flatter her freckles like, at all. “Cash?”

“Yeah,” he says, smiles, and Alex feels Cash’s eyes dart to his face, but they’re gone almost as soon as they reach him, back to Lucy. “Why haven’t we ever hung out?”

Lucy bites her lip, tucks her dark hair behind her ears and mumbles something about opportunities and not having any of them.

“We should fix that,” Cash says and Lucy giggles and that totally sets the trend for the rest of the class. Cash hits on Lucy and Lucy giggles and touches Cash’s arm and flutters her stupid, mascara-clumpy eyelashes and Alex looks so hard at the chalkboard that he thinks his eyes might fall out. 

He never really liked her anyway. 

*

Danny talks him into going to this party Friday night, and Alex totally wouldn’t have gone, but Christine really wanted to and Christine’s watery green eyes are sort of super hot and maybe make promises that Alex really hopes she follows through on. 

She said she’d meet him there so like, Alex is a little lost, clutching a plastic cup of Corona and standing on his tiptoes to look over heads and bodies and fuck, he wishes he was like, tall and broad and could just like walk through people like Moses because that dude was hardcore. 

The party is actually totally crap. There’s a lot of alcohol and a lot of pot and not a lot of brain cells in use and Alex gets shoved and groped and he’s so over it, about to leave when he catches a flash of Christine’s strawberry-blonde curls, flat ironed to fall half-way down her pale back. It’s awkward around her shoulder blades though, where a hand creeps beneath it, moves down Christine to the small of her back and huh, Alex thinks, huh, because he recognizes those hands and that, that guy who’s like, eating her face.

It’s not a surprise, shouldn’t be, but Cash is sucking on Christine’s lip, neck, collarbone and Alex can’t tear his eyes away, doesn’t really know why something in his chest is compressing so quickly, tightening until his lungs ache and his throat is sore and he just, he just wants to go home. 

So he does.

*

“Hi,” Christine says, and her lip-gloss has clumped a little on her lower lip, her foundation caking below her jaw. “I couldn’t find you the other night.” 

“Yeah,” Alex says, and he coughs a little, clears his throat and opens his locker. “I felt like, sick and stuff. My mom thought I should stay home.”

Christine gives him a funny look, like she doesn’t quite believe him and Alex bites his lip, stares at his feet, his shoelaces. 

“No.” She shakes her head a little, her hair bouncing around her neck, and says, “That’s. That’s okay, forget it.”

*

Alex isn’t sure, but he thinks history was probably enjoyable like, a million years ago. Probably back when Cash was still doing remedial math and hadn’t sweet-talked Mrs. Lewis into letting him transfer. Not that that’s hard: the quality of students in that class totally leaves her desperate for the attention of anyone who won’t stab her or like, draw pictures of her with bull horns and rolling flab. Alex saw that picture; it was kinda gross.

He drops his books on a desk by the window and he’s like, he’s early today and that’s only half-embarrassing, because Cash is up the back already, sitting on Stephanie Monvalou’s desk and pretending to read the lines on her palm. Alex sorta wants to punch him in the face.

“How about we take one of the properly designated seats, Mr. Colligan.” Mr. Barton looks suitably unimpressed. “There’s hardly a shortage.”

Cash opens his mouth to rebut, but Mr. Barton just does that stare-thing where his eyes go kinda blank and the part of his scalp that his hair has jumped ship on totally goes like, fuscia. It’s scary, and Cash closes his mouth right as Mr. Barton says, “ _Today_ , Mr. Colligan.”

It’s not that much of a surprise when Cash picks up his bag and himself and drops down to the seat next to Alex. Alex is totally impressed with himself, because like, he managed to not kill himself right then. Seriously.

“Much appreciated, Mr. Colligan. For a change in focus.” He turns back to the board, pulls out a piece of chalk to write _Second Wave Feminism_ on the board in big, almost-illegible letters. Pretty much every guy in the room groans.

Cash hasn’t even tried to talk to Alex yet, but he’s pulled a gnawed pen out of his bag, twirls it in his fingers before leaning forward to poke Francesca Dean in the back. She turns around enough to grin at Cash, before turning back to the front of the classroom. Cash grins, and reaches over to pull a chunk of her long, curly hair. 

Alex just feels sick.

*

“Did you fuck Christine over the weekend?” 

One of the guys moans a little, and another just does a jerking-off motion with one hand, says, “God, she’s such a babe.”

Cash laughs, loud and braying, and Alex doesn’t even pretend he’s not listening, leans over enough that Johnson gives him that look he does when Alex is doing anything at all ever. 

“I don’t bone and tell, dude,” Cash says, and there are like six guys at the table, all of whom make loud, grunting noises of masculine approval and Alex’s fists clench. His throat feels tight and his chest hot and he totally doesn’t mean to stand up, but he does, thrusts out enough that his lunch tray falls to the floor and Johnson reaches to grab his arm, misses as Alex storms over, fists tight at his sides.

A few of the guys at Cash’s table snort as he comes over, roll their eyes and give Alex that look that he’s so sick of being used to, and when Cash turns around to face him, Alex punches him in the face. His knuckles hurt like, insanely straight away and the anger drains almost as soon as it had collected, built in his chest, because, okay, he’s totally just hit someone who’s got friends four times his size and - _fuck._

Cash crash tackles him to the floor and it’s seconds before they’re rolling around, spitting and kicking and biting at each other and Alex is, he’s _angry_. Something in his chest, stomach, it all aches and he doesn’t know why, hurts in a way nothing has since his cat died when he was eight and he feels hot all over, _mad_. There are kids suddenly all around them, egging them on, encouraging, and that’s more fucked up than he ever thought before. 

Alex ends up flat on his back, Cash straddling his hips and Alex just sorta thrashes underneath him, but the fight’s half out of him already, jumped ship from his chest and his head. Cash has grabbed at his wrists, is holding them in mid-air, but he isn’t even hitting him anymore and Alex tries not to think it’s because the guy knows he’s already won. 

“Fuck,” Cash mumbles, and he isn’t grinning and he isn’t smug and Alex breathes in too hard, feels dumb and small and he wants to say something, but Cash is being pulled off of him by the back of his shirt. It’s not long before Alex is being dragged up by his arms as well, pulled to his feet by Mr. Barton’s glowering form.

“Principal’s office,” he says. “Now.”

Alex looks over at Cash, who’s got a bloody nose and the start of a black eye and he totally did that, something that would probably be way more impressive if he couldn’t feel the sting over his cheekbone, the bruises building on his back and the way his wrists hurt from Cash’s short fingers. 

“ _March_ ,” Mr. Barton says. It’s one of the gym teachers holding onto Cash still, and he swivels him on the spot whilst reaching over to grab Alex by the forearm. 

The lunch hall’s gone insanely quiet and when Mr. Barton tells the kids to back off, everyone moves a million times faster than Alex thinks he’s ever seen before. The gym teacher walks Cash and Alex through and out to the corridor and it almost feels like a death-march, with people whispering and staring and it would be great if that was the most embarrassing part of all this, would have been if he hadn’t heard one boy say, “Wasn’t he the guy that Cash made out with the other night?” 

Alex wants the floor to eat him.

*

The principal could quite possibly be a bigger douchebag than Cash, because he totally calls their parents, right before suspending both of them for the rest of the week.

Alex figures he should be happier about it because like, he gets a week off school, and he’s also pretty sure this inducts him into the badass side of high school but he just feels sorta spent and stupid and totally unfulfilled. He has to pick his bag up from where Johnson dropped it off at his locker and Christine’s waiting there, dancing on her toes and this is maybe the first time ever that Alex really hasn’t wanted to see her.

“Fuck,” she says, and Alex thinks that she’s like, she’s probably seen his black eye because she’s gawking like a little girl at her first wrestling match. She leans over, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, and Christine presses cool fingers to the bruise, bites her lip when Alex flinches beneath the touch.

“What happened?”

And it’s not anything but sincere, but Alex is having like, the shittiest day of all shitty days, and he throws her arms off, growls hard in the back of his throat. “Our lockers have been next to each other’s for the last two years. You’ve had no problem ignoring me for most of this time. Why are you talking to me now?”

Christine pauses, but she doesn’t try to touch him again. Actually, she takes a step back, fingers curling a little at her sides and Alex feels like an asshole. “Alex?”

“No, just.” He fumbles with the strap of his bag, pulls it over his shoulder. “Maybe you should leave me alone. My dad’s in the car to yell at me and y’know, I…” He shakes his head, starts to back down the hall. “I don’t want to miss that.”

*

Alex’s mom is a chameleon. It’s really impressive because like, in the last hour of screaming, she’s gone from white to brown to red to a sort of off-purple color that reminds Alex of that time his dad tried to wash Emma’s pink fairy dresses with all the blacks.

“This is so unlike you,” she says, and the purple’s evening out a little, which is probably good. “You were always such a good boy.”

Alex nods, because he’s not really sure what other reaction will get him not ripped limb from limb and cooked into something for his grandma. His mom just sighs though, puffs out through her nose before saying, “I don’t know what to do with you.” She sighs again, bites her lip. “Go to your room until I can think coherently enough to punish you.”

He cringes a little, says, “I love you,” and his mom visibly deflates. 

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, but she smiles enough that Alex knows she doesn‘t hate him and that’s more than a little awesome. 

He heads to his room, puffs out his cheeks dramatically and falls face-first into bed because life sucks, and the bruises on his back are dark already and patterned to match the tiles of the lunch hall, which pretty much means Alex won’t be taking his shirt off in public for a year. Not that he does anyway, really. 

He doesn’t even realise he’s fallen asleep until he wakes up, the door to his room slamming open and Alex starts awake, stares at the clock which reads 6:09. He looks up, and it’s, fuck, it’s _Cash_ in the doorway, who’s notably not bleeding anymore, but has a massive purple bruise over his right eye. Cash tilts his head, stares at Alex sprawled on the bed, and totally lets himself in, glances at the Justin Timberlake poster over Alex’s bed. 

“My mom sent me over to apologize,” Cash says, and he shrugs, rocks back on his heels a little and moves to stand at Alex’s desk, opens the top drawer a little and glances inside. 

“Awesome.” Alex rubs at his eyes a little, sits up in the bed and slouches over the side. Cash glances over, grins and closes the desk drawer. “You gonna?”

“Gonna what?” Cash asks, and he’s moved onto the second drawer, rifles through enough to find a photo of Alex and his ex-girlfriend. He tilts his head, stares and puts it back.

“Apologize.”

Cash just gives him a weird look, says, “Dude, _you_ punched _me_. Not the other way around.”

Alex glowers. “You _tackled_ me.”

“Self defense,” Cash shrugs, opens the third drawer. “Who stands there and takes it when someone gets violent on them, dude? I mean, sure, it was a pussy-punch, but maybe you were building up to something.”

“Your black eye doesn’t think it was a pussy-punch.”

Cash actually laughs at that, says, “Me on top of you says I won though, huh?”

Alex wishes he didn’t think _you fucking Christine says you won_ and he bites the inside of his cheek, stares at the blanket underneath him. Cash must take Alex’s silence for a resignation or something, though, because he moves from Alex’s desk to the corner of the room where Alex’s guitar is. He picks it up, says, “You play?”

“No,” Alex says, “I keep it in my room as decoration, same with the computer over there. I’m into highly priced accessories that I can‘t use.”

Cash quirks a brow, says, “Whatever gets you off, dude,” and strums a bit on Alex’s guitar. Alex totally wonders if he’s dreaming because this is like a crack hallucination and Alex fidgets on the bed, moves enough to pinch his thigh, which, ow, just sorta hurts.

He rubs at his eyes again, and maybe it’s exhaustion, but he doesn’t mean to say, “Why’d you like, kiss me?” when he does.

The grin slides across Cash’s face way too easily, like it always does. “Why not?”

And, dude, seriously? Alex grimaces, rocks back, because there are more reasons than he can list as to _why not_ and he’s totally about to say that when Alex’s mom cracks open the door, leans around the bend. “You boys figured this thing out?”

Cash turns on that smile that has everyone at school eating out of the palm of his stupid, sweaty hand, and Alex feels his forehead furrow, his lips tighten. 

“Absolutely, Mrs. Deleon. I was actually just inviting Alex here to my birthday party this weekend.”

Alex’s mom grins, ecstatic and Alex’s face sorta drops in abject horror. Fuck.

* 

The problem with Cash giving Alex’s mom the details is that now Alex has to go. Also, he’s pretty sure his mom thinks they’re BFF’s now, because she keeps saying he should invite Cash over to study which, seriously? Stupid family-infiltrating douchebag.

The party’s huge, _of course_ it’s huge - full of people who think Cash is hot shit and feed his ego like, like Princess Leia had to feed Jabba the Hut and Alex totally thinks that’s the most accurate description ever. 

He figures he can stay for like, an hour, and then just go home and say he felt ill but his mom probably won’t believe it and send him back to be polite, so Alex just grabs a cup of cheap beer and sits on the front porch of Cash’s stupid house and watches a group of girls stagger out to barf in the front yard. 

It’s maybe been an hour the next time he checks his watch, and he’s not sure when or how he’s made his way through seven cups of Corona, but there you go. There are footsteps on the porch behind him, and he wishes he were surprised when he turns enough to see Cash’s stupid neon sneakers. Cash staggers over and he pulls Alex’s head back by his hair, leans down to press a sloppy, beer-laced kiss on his mouth. Alex jerks away, but Cash just follows. 

“It’s my birthday, dude,” Cash mumbles against Alex’s jaw. “I’m seventeen, fucking legal now.” 

Alex moves back enough that they’re just breathing the same air instead of each other, says, “Like that ever mattered,” and Cash just grins, crashes forward again until he and Alex are kissing, pressed way too tight and hot together.

Alex has always hated his body on a purely physical level, and he figures it’s letting him down again, because it kinda likes the way Cash’s body feels right now, close and solid against him, hot. 

Cash is still squatting a little and he breaks the kiss to drop down hard on the porch, half a fall and Alex guesses that this is Cash trashed, which is awesome because he could probably find blackmail in this somehow, but also because it rhymes. Trashed Cash doesn’t seem to be thinking about anything other than molesting Alex though, because he turns until he faces Alex’s side and grabs onto the collar of Alex’s shirt, pulls until Alex is half in his lap and he crashes their mouths together again, bites on his lower lip hard enough that Alex thinks it might start bleeding. 

There’s something building in his chest, like someone’s puffing up a balloon and it presses into his ribs, squeezes his heart, lungs, intestines until Alex feels too small for his insides. Cash licks at his mouth until Alex parts his lips, letting Cash’s tongue slip inside and he tastes like beer and fast food and _him_ and Alex knows that now because they’ve, they’ve done this before and maybe this is a thing now because Alex is pretty sure he can only call it things like _stupid_ and a _one-off_ when it’s only happened once. 

“Stop thinking,” Cash mumbles, and he wraps an arm around Alex’s little waist before snaking a hand up the bottom of his t-shirt, pressing cold fingers against the bruises that he put there and Alex shivers, fidgets and thinks that maybe, for the first time ever, he sorta wants to stop thinking. Wants to lose himself in this, in _Cash_ , because it feels like, it feels _good_ , and Alex is sixteen, and that’s all he’s supposed to want in life right now.

There’s music bleeding out of the house, yells and words that Alex can’t quite make out and Alex wonders if this looks as chick-flick as it feels. Wonders if it’s at all artistic or real or if maybe it just looks like another two teenagers half-way to fucking on a doorstep. He’s amazed at how much he doesn’t care, not with Cash here and solid and warm and Alex snakes a hand into Cash’s hair, the other to dig nails into Cash’s back and when he kisses back now, he means it. 

Cash is backing off, though, pulling far enough away that Alex tries to follow, but Cash is mumbling, says, “Want to go to my bedroom?” and Alex says _yes_ and then, fuck, fuck, fuck, because _no_. He shoves Cash away, the hand dropping out of the back of his shirt and that almost feels like a loss, skin feels wanting without Cash‘s cool fingers on it, but Alex lifts his chin, growls, says, “I’m not easy, dickface,” and he staggers off home. 

*

“Nice of you to join us, Mr. Colligan.” And Mr. Barton is looking particularly unimpressed today, which is funny because Alex figures he’d have had a week to regain his patience with them having both been suspended. “I believe the class has been missing the ignorance-driven distractions in your absence.”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t miss me, Mr. Barton,” Cash says, and he drops into the seat beside Alex. “I know better.”

Mr. Barton makes a noise that falls somewhere between intense annoyance and growing amusement. “Clearly, Mr. Colligan. Now, what can people tell me about Betty Friedan?”

A few hands creep into the air, but Alex can’t even pay attention to that when Cash is fumbling through his backpack, pulling out a notebook and a pen, scribbling something on the first clean page and sliding it across the desk to Alex.

_Pussy._

Awesome, Alex thinks. He’s totally glad he didn’t hook up with someone who was a total asshole or anything, because how stupid would that have been? He picks up the pen, writes, _Cash Colligan is_ before Cash’s note and slides it back.

Cash just grins, writes, _My mom says I’m sensitive, like gentle and shit. Total gentleman._

Alex quirks a brow. _You’re not sensitive. You’re like a heartless asshole._

_This is correct. My asshole has no heart. Sorry._

Alex totally draws a picture of Cash dead with like, a million knives sticking out of his belly and he doesn’t even feel bad about it or anything, especially when Cash doesn’t let him finish, slides the notebook out from underneath Alex’s pen. 

Cash stares at the picture for a minute, before quirking a brow, writing, _…You don’t do art, huh? I have no idea what that is._

_It’s you. Dead. Dead from douchebag-itis. It’s a very serious condition where teenage boys are consumed by asshattery until somebody kills them._

_Is that you standing over me then? Cackling?_

_Yes._

Cash laughs loud enough that Mr. Barton sends him outside and Alex is left feeling ridiculous. He draws Cash with massive boils instead, writes _I AM COVERED IN STDS_ in big, dark letters over the body and leaves it for Cash to find after class. 

*

Here’s the thing about being sixteen: it sucks. Seriously, Alex isn’t even kidding. If he made a graph on the levels of sucktacular-ism prevalent in adolescence, he thinks it would end up off the chart. Y’know, sixteen is all zits and limbs and voices and worse, worse, it’s the ‘Sexual Awakening’. That’s what his biology teacher called it. 

Alex doesn’t think it’s an awakening; he doesn’t think anyone’s discovering sex at sixteen, thinks everyone knows about this shit way early. He thinks it’s totally more of an obsession, more of a migration where the brain gets up, shakes off and moves house from head to crotch. 

This is kind of hilarious, because when you’re sixteen, nothing about sex is sexy. Alex thinks about this too much, mostly after he’s jerked off in the shower and he’s left watching the way the water washes all the gross stuff off down between his scrawny thighs. 

When you’re sixteen, you’re generally lanky and stupid-looking and pimply and Alex totally has braces and okay, he’s man enough to say that his voice cracks when he comes and like, he’s still waiting to get underarm hair. He’s not a twenty-five-year-old playing sixteen like they do in the movies; he’s real sixteen, wet dreams, hormones and all and that right there is why being real sixteen sucks ass. 

Real sixteen sucks because your hormones totally try to like, eat your soul. Also ruin your life and head and friendships and not-friendships and it makes everything shit-tacular in general. Alex knows this, he watched those videos in biology where they spend an hour talking about it using words like _normal_ and _everyone_ (even if he doesn’t always believe it) so he totally tries to cut himself slack. Tells him it’s natural to dream about screwing Catwoman or being the only dude who can touch Rogue and watching her go wild about it because yeah, sixteen. He even cuts himself slack when he dreams about Christine swooning over him -- a him that’s suddenly six-foot-three and has the body of Brad Pitt. 

Just he doesn’t think he can really cut his hormones any slack at all when Christine is replaced with Cash and the Brad Pitt-him is replaced with him-him. He maybe can’t forgive himself when he dreams of Cash’s party and what could’ve happened if he’d gone to Cash’s room and Cash had pushed him down onto a bed and they’d fucked like teenagers. Alex actually sort of hates himself for it when he wakes up with sticky thighs and a sweaty everything else and he hates it even more when he ends up in the shower, forehead pressed against the tiles and a hand between his legs. He thinks it’s pretty stupid, even as he comes all over himself. 

He washes off though, brushes his teeth and pulls on clean boxers and straight-legged jeans and a _Fall Out Boy is for Lovers_ t-shirt and staggers back into his bedroom, still towel-drying his hair.

He wonders if he’s still dreaming when he sees Cash sitting on his bed, flicking through an old issue of _Rolling Stone_. “Your room smells like jizz, dude. Just so you know.”

Alex flushes because _duh_ and also because he really hopes Cash isn’t sitting in the wet patch. He pulls the towel down enough to cover his face, scrub at the top of his head some more. “How’d you get in?”

He can totally hear the grin in Cash’s voice, “I’m pretty sure your mom thinks we’re BFF’s now, dude.”

Alex groans, drops the towel to the floor. “I’m pretty sure I hate you.”

“Not what you were saying when my tongue was down your throat.” Cash shrugs. “Just saying, dude.”

It’s too hot suddenly; like sunburn, stovetops, summer, and he _knows_ he’s got to be flushed red, blood bright in his cheeks. He growls a little, that stupid, baby one that makes his cousin Amanda use words like _precious_ and _kitten-face_. He hates Amanda.

“Whatever, dude,” Cash says, and he’s moved to Alex’s desk chair, is sifting through folders on Alex’s computer and fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , because he has the Spice Girls on there, also porn, but seriously, the Spice Girls and what the fuck is Cash even doing anyway? 

“Where’s your history assignment?” 

Alex blinks. “What?”

Cash pauses, turns to stare at Alex and says very slowly, “Where is your history paper? The one on that feminist chick.”

Alex isn’t totally sure, but he’s pretty sure Cash is like, an asshole. “You came to copy my assignment?”

Cash grins, and turns back to the computer quickly. “Nah, I came to piss you off. It’s way too easy, dude.” And he leans back again to look at Alex. “But your assignment too, if you’ve got it.”

Alex kinda wants to rip his hair out, which would totally save him the energy of flat-ironing it every day, but would also look weird so he kinda doesn’t want to. “Why do you _do_ this?”

“What?”

“This,” Alex says and he gestures around the room, and he feels himself getting more frustrated, feels bitter and stupid and he rubs his knuckles against closed eyes. “You act like we’re friends and you make out with me at parties and you try to get me to go to your bedroom to like, I don’t even know-”

“Fuck you,” Cash says helpfully. “Or, y’know, get you to blow me. I was pretty trashed; I probably would’ve even taken just like, a hand job.” 

Alex growls a little again, folds his arms over his chest and shoots like, his best death-stare at him. Cash doesn’t look particularly scared. “Thought you only boned chicks.”

Cash shrugs. “I guess, I mean, I’ve never done a dude before but it can’t be that different.” He purses his lips, looks at Alex almost appraisingly for a minute and Alex rolls his eyes. “You’ve got sort of a chick body anyway, y’know, no tits, but you’ve got the hour glass thing going for you, that and the long hair.”

“Just because I have long hair doesn’t mean I have a vagina, dickface.”

It’s around this point that Cash bursts out laughing and Alex sorta clicks that Cash was joking for most of this conversation. Alex groans, drops onto his bed and puts his face in his hands. He doesn’t even look up at Cash to say, “You’re such a douchebag.”

“Yeah,” Cash agrees. “I try.”

Alex bites his lip, pauses and he doesn’t know why, not really, but he asks, “Did you fuck Christine?” without thinking.

Cash pauses, looks at Alex and Alex isn’t sure if he wants the lie or the truth. He figures he knows either way, but his chest is clenching anyway, stomach tightening and Cash looks almost hesitant, but he says, “Yeah.”

Alex can’t even pinpoint where, but something hurts, somewhere between his eyelashes and toenails something aches, throbs and burns in a way Alex isn’t used to, doesn’t like at all and doesn’t think his mom can come in and fix for him. 

“Why?”

Cash bites his lip and he just, he doesn’t look comfortable, like he regrets it almost, and that’s not right, not right at all because Alex doesn’t think he can hate him properly when he’s looking at him like that. 

“She’s really hot, dude.”

“We were-”

“She could’ve said no, man,” Cash says, and it’s quick now, biting almost. “So don’t think it’s just me being a jackass.”

Alex sighs, stares at his hands again and Cash rolls his eyes dramatically, moves to sit beside him on the bed and presses his lips to the side of Alex’s neck. Alex can’t decide whether to shy away or bear it. “What are you doing?”

“You like me more if I’m not talking,” Cash says, “and I like you more when you’re sorta flushed and sweaty. It’s awesome.” Alex feels the heat rise to his chest, neck, face. “This is win-win.”

Cash is still mouthing at Alex’s neck, hot and humid and Alex’s chest just feels heavier, tighter, until the air he’s breathing out is coarse and tense and he feels strung up, _out_. “There’s no one here to watch you be bi-curious,” he mumbles. “You don’t need to prove that you’ve made-out with our entire grade.” 

Maybe it was the right thing to say (the wrong), because Cash leans back and away, his forehead furrowed and his lips parted. “What?”

And Alex doesn’t even know, but maybe it makes more sense now than it ever did before. “That’s why you keep kissing me right? At parties? You’ve gotta have like a checklist or something, who you’ve boned? Am I, like, the last? If you do me, do you win a trip for two to Hawaii? A seat for you and one for your dick?” Alex hasn’t moved, but Cash almost looks a little taken-aback, a little _hurt_ and what? 

“That’s what you think?”

Alex doesn’t say anything when Cash stands up, and he doesn’t try to stop him when he leaves.

*

Alex totally wonders if he imagined the last three weeks of his life, because Cash stops talking to him. Cash stops pulling his hair and trying to feel him up at parties and Christine stops talking to either of them at all and it isn’t a loss or a gain or anything. Alex isn’t sure what it is, but it’s enough to leave him feeling off-balanced and ridiculous and also like he’s in the middle of a teen soap-opera. 

“My life is like _The OC_ , bro,” he says. “Only, y’know, all the leads are sixteen or seventeen instead of thirty and are generally less attractive.”

“I know that feeling,” Johnson says, half-way through one of the schools ‘gourmet’ burgers. He pauses mid-chew, amends, “No, I don’t. I don’t watch that show.”

Alex just sighs and drops his head into his hands. His life sucks.

*

Their music teacher is pretty much on crack. She’s kinda awesome and sometimes she comes in on such a downer she passes out at her desk and everyone leaves and today, today it only took her ten minutes to faceplant straight onto the sheet music and most of the class has pissed off. Alex always feels like, mega bad if he leaves, so he wanders over to the instrument cupboard and pulls out a guitar. He ends up sitting cross-legged in the corner of the room and strumming out the opening lines of _What’s My Age Again?_ , Mrs. Clarke’s snores filtering over the chords like crappy experimental prose and Alex smiles a little to himself and feels normal for the first time in a while.

“Wow,” comes a voice from the hall. “You’re not shit.”

Alex’s eyes dart up and it’s Cash in the doorway, head tilted and eyebrows high and it‘s not half the surprise it should be, even if it’s been a week since Alex’s bedroom. 

Alex doesn’t even say anything, but Cash wanders over, drops his bag beside Alex and forcibly takes the guitar from his lap. “So you like Blink, what else?”

“Uh,” Alex mumbles, because this sounds a lot like a normal conversation and that’s - that’s like, _bizarre_. “Maroon 5, Justin Timberlake, I don’t even know, dude. I like Beyoncé.”

“Cool, because that’s not gay at all,” and Alex flushes because _hey_ , like Cash can talk, but Cash _is_ talking, saying, “I’m more into Something Corporate, Midtown, y’know? Fall Out Boy’s pretty awesome though.” Alex doesn’t mean to wonder if that’s because he saw Alex in that t-shirt.

“Yeah,” Alex says, and Cash thrums out the opening chords of _Where Is Your Boy Tonight?_ And Alex hums along because Cash? He’s not shit either, well, at least until he starts singing.

*

Somehow, somehow Alex ends up in Cash’s garage. He doesn’t even know, because one minute he’s in school playing Blink covers as Mrs. Clarke snores at her desk, and the next he’s listening to Cash’s demos on Garage Band. 

It shouldn’t even be anything because they’re not friends, not anything, but Cash’s music is _good_ , slurring guitars and rapid drum-lines that beat and rumble their way into Alex’s skull until he thinks maybe he could sing along, play along. Cash won’t stop looking at him, eyes wide and lips curved up and it’s not his normal, stupidly smug smile. It’s something nicer, softer and Alex grins back. 

“These are pretty rough,” Cash says. “So don’t go thinking they’re done. I dunno, I want to add vocals, but I’m not even good like, at all. Lyrics would probably be useful in that case too, huh?” 

Alex laughs, shakes his head so his hair bounces around his neck. “Probably.”

“Maybe you could write something,” Cash says and he shrugs. “If you wanted. Whatever, dude. You play guitar.”

“Yeah,” Alex says, because he does. 

*

Alex shouldn’t be surprised that Cash is still a stupid dickface at school and he isn’t, not really, but Cash pulls his hair and knocks his books to the floor and laughs when Alex falls over and generally does shit that’s ridiculous and mean. Alex totally tries to vent, tells Johnson, but he just looks at Alex like he’s the dumbest person in the world ever, which, okay, isn’t that different from when he normally looks at him but, still. It’s mean. 

“Hey, loser.” And Cash shoves Alex hard enough that his forehead crashes into the door of his locker. Cash is a douchebag so, y’know, he _laughs_. “Come skip class with me.”

“Yeah, sure,” Alex says. “Just give me a second to finish designing my fake ID and sorting through the money I earned from dealing ecstasy.” 

Cash just rolls his eyes a little and folds his arms over his chest. “You’re such a square, dude.”

“Square? Who even says that anymore?”

But Cash is totally halfway down the hall already and that sort of stuff doesn’t even work on Alex at all. He’s not a sheep, he’s a thinking, breathing, intelligent guy and, and, fuck it. He slams his locker shut, and dashes down the hall to follow Cash. They end up out the back of the school, behind the basketball courts and there’s two seniors making out beside the dumpster, a freshman girl crying on the grass and Cash totally grabs Alex’s wrist before he can go over.

“She’s-”

“None of our business? Dude, I don’t think she wants some scrawny junior trying to be her knight in shining armor.”

Alex pouts, because she might. 

They stop outside the home economics rooms and Cash leans against the wall, pulls a cigarette from his pocket, lights it, props it between his lips to inhale and sighs blissfully. Alex just crinkles his nose. “Ew, dude.”

Cash glances at the cigarette, then back at Alex. “You’ve seen me smoke before.”

“Yeah, but…” Alex grabs it from Cash’s lips, drops it to the ground and stubs it out with the toe of his sneakers. “It’s still gross.”

Cash quirks a brow, and pulls another cigarette out, lights it and props it between his lips. He sucks over dramatically and Alex feels his face go hot, because hormones are crap and Cash must catch on, because he grins, rolls his eyes back and moans deep enough that Alex totally kicks him in the shin. 

“ _Fuck_.”

“Serves you right,” Alex sniffs, and he’s about to turn around when Cash grabs him by the back of his head, blows smoke in his face and Alex is only half morally outraged. 

“One day you’re gonna start coughing up tar and I’m gonna laugh in your face, dude.”

“Awesome,” Cash says, and he wraps an arm around Alex’s neck and smothers his face into his chest. 

*

They totally alternate between Cash’s garage and Alex’s bedroom because there’s really only so much sound their respective parents can stand. Cash likes practicing at Alex’s more anyway, because Alex’s mom brings them juice and marshmallow squares and Cash says her smile’s the same sort of ridiculous as Alex’s.

Alex isn’t sure if that’s a compliment or not.

“I was thinking,” Cash says, “like, this.” And he strums out some jittery little thing on the acoustic and Alex kinda, Alex likes it.

“It’s good,” he says. “But maybe…” And he grabs his guitar back from Cash, tries out a similar thing in a different key, and Cash just half grins. Alex isn’t sure when this stopped being a Cash and Alex thing and started being a CashandAlexthing but he’s sort of glad it did. Maybe.

“Do you know what else is awesome?” Cash has grabbed the guitar again, thrums out the opening of _When I Come Around_ and Alex only does it as a joke, but when he opens his mouth to sing along, dance ridiculously on the spot, Cash is looking at him with half-lidded eyes and something pulling at his lips that Alex can’t quite place. When Alex pulls in to the end of the song, all Cash says is, “Huh.”

Alex laughs, says, “I’m not that bad, am I?” and Cash shakes his head.

“I’ve heard worse, dude,” he says and then, beat, “How about you do that again?”

*

Cash must be having like, a mega, super bad influence on him, because Alex is running late for class and Alex is never running late for class. He dashes to his locker, fumbles with the lock and pulls his Calculus books into his bag, slams the door shut and, “ _Fuck!_ ”

Christine widens her eyes, bites her lip but totally like, she _giggles_ , which is kinda rude. “Hi,” she says. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Alex mumbles, and he fumbles with the zip of his backpack, chews on the inside of his cheek when Christine looks at her feet. 

“So, we haven’t talked in a while,” she says, and Alex blinks, says, “Not my fault.”

Christine just quirks a brow. “Hey, you told me to leave you alone.”

“Yeah,” Alex says. “Because you fucked Cash.”

She blinks and maybe, maybe she didn’t know he knew, even though the whole school talked about it for like, a week. She flushes bright crimson and looks suitably embarrassed and it satisfies Alex more than he’d care to admit.

“Yeah,” she says. “I did.”

And okay, that was blunt. Alex fidgets on the spot, toys with the straps on his backpack and it takes him a minute, but the silence is painfully awkward and he just, he _can’t_. “I should probably go, y’know, like, class and shit.”

Christine nods, but she’s looking at him differently, her big, green eyes bright in the dim hallway and Alex turns to move away. He only makes it a few paces when Christine calls out, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Alex stops, turns back, and waits a beat, says, “That is worth something,” because it is. 

Christine grins, that glamorous, full-bodied thing that leaves Alex light-headed and giggly only, not really right now, not anymore and Alex isn’t sure which one of them blew it.

*

Cash’s garage is actually really, insanely dirty and Alex notices every time he comes in. He always gets the crazy urge to clean only like, he won’t because that would be both creepy and gross. He doesn’t want to clean Cash’s shit.

Cash is fucking around on his guitar and they’ve been down here for like, two hours already when Cash says, “C’mon, I have stuff in my room.” It feels like a bigger deal than maybe it should, because they’ve been fucking around with music for almost two months now and Alex has never been in Cash’s room before. 

He’s not sure what he’s expecting, but Cash’s bedroom doesn’t really fit the bill at all – there’s no dartboard with Alex’s face on it for one, but it’s actually just sort of dark and dusty. His bedcovers totally have Spiderman on them, though, and the posters on his walls are all of bands, most that Alex has never heard of, instead of half-naked women.

Alex sits on Spiderman’s face on Cash’s bed and Cash opens his closet, ends up rifling through the mess on the floor of it. There are at least six issues of _Playboy_ and two boxes of condoms and Alex almost feels like he’s imposing, feels like this is new water, new territory, which is the stupidest thing ever because Cash has been in his room a million times.

“Huh,” Cash says, and he hasn’t pulled anything out of the closet at all, but he’s looking at Alex with a furrowed brow and parted lips and it’s enough that Alex blinks, purses his lips a little in response. Cash, he just gets up, moves to sit next to Alex on the bed. 

“Cozy,” Cash mumbles, and he smoothes out the blankets with his fingers and when he looks back up at Alex, his eyes are wide, lips parted and Alex isn’t even sure why he does it, but suddenly he has Cash’s hand in his hair and Cash’s mouth on his and this feels, this feels so familiar, only there isn’t any alcohol and Alex doesn’t really think they feel like the same people they were at Cash’s birthday party. _He_ doesn’t really feel the same, which is like, it’s stupid, but there’s something pooling in his belly, catching up his intestines and he bites on Cash’s lip until Cash pushes him onto his back.

The look on Cash’s face isn’t regular or maybe it is, maybe it’s the way Cash looks at him when he sings, only more and bigger and more intense, _so_ intense and it makes Alex catch his breath, makes his head feel too big for his skull and his heart too big for his chest, makes it fight his ribcage. Cash’s eyes close, and when he opens them they’re darker than normal, his cheeks flushed and he says, “Seriously?” and Alex sits up again, is like, “No,” because that’s what he meant to say first last time, only this is different so, so, “Okay, yes? Yes.”

Cash mumbles something that sounds a lot like _fuck yeah_ , and pulls his shirt off, which just kinda makes Alex mind blank, drowns the color and voices and when he says, “Huh,” Cash rolls his eyes, puts a hand in Alex’s hair and kisses him again. 

They fall back onto the bed like planes from the sky, clothes off a line and Alex thinks that this is so, so much better than jerking off in the shower, especially when Cash grinds his hips down hard enough to bruise, hard enough to make friction and tension and to make Alex’s tight jeans have to strain that much harder. 

Suddenly there’s air between them, space and all Alex can do is shake his head, choke out a, “ _No,_ ” and try to follow Cash up and away, but Cash just grins, bastard, and pushes Alex back down a little. Cash’s fingers end up at Alex’s waist and they play with the hem of his t-shirt before way too quickly and in a manner way too practiced, pulling it up and off from around his head.

Alex looks at his chest, says, “Huh,” and then glances back up at Cash, who just grins and crashes back down on top of Alex, slamming their mouths back together hard enough to hurt. Cash’s tongue is in his mouth and all Alex can taste is smoke and homemade lasagna and that thing that he can never pinpoint, is just _Cash_ and not anything else. All he can feel is heat, cotton, denim, _skin_ and his fingers are clutching at Cash’s bare back, digging in hard enough to bruise every time Cash rolls his hips and it doesn’t take him (either of them) long to get hard. To be breathing so deep and heavy that the air between them feels stale, desperate and fuck, just _hot_. 

Maybe it’s not a big deal though, because Cash is popping the button on Alex’s jeans like it’s nothing, moving the fly down enough to get his fingers down the front of Alex’s pants and _fuckfuckfuck_ , because his fingers are ridiculously cold and Alex is ridiculously hard. He’s writhing like he doesn’t care, though, which, okay, he _doesn’t_ , but still, he’s gonna have like, frostbite on his dick, and that’s a little worrying, only he forgets that pretty quickly when Cash starts sucking on Alex’s collarbone.

“Fuck,” and that was probably a lot more manly in Alex’s head but, _fuck_ , he spreads his legs a little more, writhes further down into Cash’s stupid Spiderman bed sheets and Cash just keeps sucking and fuck, it’s gonna bruise _so bad_ but suddenly Cash’s hand is anything but cold and it only takes a few tugs to spill Alex over the edge. 

“ _Fuck,_ ” Alex mumbles and Cash’s breath is hot against his neck still as he pulls his hand out of Alex’s pants and wipes it on Alex’s belly. Alex feels a lot more boneless than he should, sprawled over Spiderman with Cash still hard and solid on top of him and it takes him a few seconds to remember to be embarrassed that it took him like, two seconds to come all over himself. 

Cash grins, but he grabs Alex’s hand, rubs it across his own still-hard dick through the denim of his jeans and Alex thinks, he can do this, he can do _better_. He rolls them over, pulls Cash up and to the edge of the bed and sinks to his knees on the floor. Tugs down Cash’s jeans and boxers and hey, wow, dick.

Alex bites his lip, breathes and Cash says, “Are you-” but it’s cut off with a gasp when Alex, yeah, when Alex goes down on him and huh. Huh, this is what cock tastes like. 

Huh. Alex tries not to dry-heave.

He coughs a little, and might try and pull back and he really hopes he’s not gonna get like, pubes in his braces, because that would basically be the grossest thing ever. Cash’s hands in his hair stop him though, pull him in closer and Alex reckons that that right there is the worst part of long hair. He should totally shave his head after this only - only Cash is sorta squirming a lot, moaning and the way his hands tighten, curl in his hair, it’s sorta, okay, a turn-on. Yeah. 

Alex sucks hard and it can’t be that good – he has no idea what he’s doing, but Cash gasps, writhes and it’s not long before Cash says, “Alex-”. He’s not sure whether to preen that he got Cash to growl out his name like that, or to move off and really, Alex has never been that quick, so he ends up with something hot and salty filling his mouth and he tries his hardest to swallow but ends up flinching away and spitting most of Cash’s come down the front of his chest. Cash is heavy breathing, slack and boneless but he looks down at Alex who can’t look any better and says, “Wow.” Says between heavy breaths, “You look like you’ve bathed in come.”

Alex flips him off, but he sort of feels like he has too and that’s, yeah, that’s gross. Cash leans over, throws him his shirt, and says, “Go shower. I’ll get you a towel.”

Alex feels sort of ridiculous and blank and there’s totally something in his chest and stomach that’s moving too fast and bubbling and making him feel really, really stupid. Cash sits up, pulls his pants back up and says, “You’re not having a crisis of sexuality are you, dude? Because like, that was awesome and I kinda think we should do that again sometime but if you’re gonna fucking cry or something, I can totally live without.”

Alex grumbles something that sounds a lot like “douchebag,” and goes to shower. 

The water’s hot against his legs, back, head and he can feel his hair curling up against his neck, which is crap, because it took him like, an hour to flat-iron it this morning. He feels a little achy and not a little stupid and he climbs out of the shower to a way-too-big vanity mirror and then he just feels debauched.

Fuck, his lips are like, super swollen, more so than that time he and Kristy made out for half an hour. They’re all red and blotchy and he can’t help it when he runs a finger across them and pouts dramatically. He shakes his head, leans closer to the mirror and his hair is all curly and crap now and there’s a massive hickey on his collarbone that looks like Cash fucking tried to _eat_ him or something and Alex feels stupid still, even without being covered in semen. He hopes he doesn’t get herpes or something, because that would be totally gross. 

He leans back again, glowers at the mirror, grins, pouts, before picking up his still wet boxers and tugging them on. He’s so super glad he and Cash are the only ones home because the stain is obvious and he ends up sneaking back to Cash’s room without any other clothes on, opens up Cash’s closet and grabs a clean pair of underwear, jeans and a t-shirt.

“Oh, sure, feel free,” Cash says. He’s lying on his back on the bed and totally rolls his eyes when Alex sticks out his tongue, but he doesn’t even pretend to turn away when Alex pulls off his boxers and changes into Cash’s clothes. 

The whole room smells like come which - okay, which isn’t that different from before they, fuck, before Alex _blew the guy_. Which actually explains a lot, but it also smells like both of them, smells like Cash and now Alex too and that sort of, it makes something in Alex’s head use words like _mine_ and _his_ , which is fucking ridiculous. Obviously. He bites his lip, stares at Cash through his wet hair. 

“If I wanted to witness stupid, long-winded internal monologues I would go borrow my mom’s Shakespeare films,” Cash says, but then adds, “or bone that chick from English Lit again. The one with the nose ring.” 

“Debbie Morn,” Alex says, and he looks at his bare feet, toes the carpet and he grins, blinks, shakes his head a little. “Should we be talking about this?” 

Cash just gives him a weird look before saying, “You’re hilarious, Singer-boy.”

Alex grins a little, rolls his eyes. “And you’re a douchebag, Cash Money,” Alex says, because he is.


End file.
